


Payback Is A Bitch

by Scarlet_Nin



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: BAMF Klaus Hargreeves, Child Abuse, Dysfunctional Family, Five's A Snarky Little Menace, Gen, Hurt Number Five | The Boy, Klaus did, Nosebleed, Protective Klaus Hargreeves, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Reginald never saw it coming, Telekinetic Klaus Hargreeves, They're Like 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:54:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25074184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Nin/pseuds/Scarlet_Nin
Summary: The first time Klaus uses his telekinesis was the first time Reginald ever raised a hand against one of them.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 33
Kudos: 1484





	Payback Is A Bitch

In hindsight there was no need for a power like clairvoyance.

Even a blind man could have seen it coming ages ago.

Still. If they’d placed bets, Klaus would have put all his money on himself.

As his brothers and sister—Vanya never quite had the courage to voice her thoughts—insisted on, Klaus’ secondary power was the ability to be annoying. To get underneath the skin of people with his sheer obnoxious personality made up of nonstop chattering and lame jokes.

His talent to get on people’s nerves—particular dear old Reggie’s—would have made him the prime candidate in this case. With the sharp looks sent his way whenever he opened his mouth, a clear indicator of Reginald’s patience running on thin ice, he’s expecting a mausoleum trip with dread and a hand already twirling a joint underneath the table, just in case.

After all, the first target of Dad’s ire has always been him. Disappointing Number Four. Useless save for his power of getting Daddy’s blood pressure to rise in record times. Whether that’d be with his unwillingness to talk to the dead or putting on Allison’s eyeliner.

Regardless of whether Klaus caused the spark that ignited the fuse of Reginald’s temper or not, he was the victim caught up in the explosion.

Except, this time, he was not.

There was nothing unusual about today. Nothing to give it away. Sure, Klaus never paid much attention during breakfast since talking was forbidden and flicking peas Diego’s ways or sneaking them onto Allison’s plate only kept him entertained for so long until it became boring to see Luther glowering over the table and Diego tightening his fingers around his butter knife.

He’d heard Five speak up once or twice, about time-jumping and Dad’s steely voice were warning bells roaring to life in his ears. Loud, yet too quiet to push through the wailing of the two women behind his chair.

Stupid nannies with slit throat and cut out tongues. They couldn’t talk to him beyond incoherent screaming and gurgling noises. One of them went into hysterics at the sight of his oatmeal and his ears hadn’t stopped ringing yet.

When he’d blinked back into focus, breakfast was over. The chairs beside him were empty and he hurried to follow, not wanting to give Dad a reason to get mad over.

Not that he needed one with Klaus, but still. Better not poke a hornet nest with a baseball bat. Sleeping with night lights on all the time wasn’t good for his already poor sleeping schedule, so he would prefer to keep his trips to the mausoleum as short as possible.

After breakfast came the routinely morning training. Running laps until they either puked or collapsed. Whatever came first.

“I’ve had enough of this, old man!”

Apparently, Five wanted to start the day with a death wish.

“What was that, young man?” Reginald narrowed his eyes, coming to a stop at the door.

Five raised his chin. “You heard me,” He spits out through clenched teeth.

The rest of them stayed as silent as a mouse, not daring to breath in fear of turning their Father’s icy glare onto them. Vanya shook her head frantically while Ben wrapped his arms around his stomach, averting his eyes.

“Do not push this issue further than you already have, Number Five,” Reginald says, “My patience is not endless unlike your arrogance which appears to know no bounds. Bring your temper to heel, lest of all I need to remind you who runs this household.”

A warning. The fury made out of steel bleeds into Father’s voice like lava, bright and hot and deadly. His cold exterior is breaking to reveal cracks of vivid anger in the tightness around his mouth, a single bloodless line, the furrow of his brows and it’s the closest he’s come to raising his voice at any of them.

Including the time where Klaus got caught stealing his pricey whiskey bottle.

Vanya’s gaze drops to the floor like Luther’s and Allison’s, staring at her shoes like they hold the answers to the universe, as if they’re brand new instead of old and worn and a size too big for her, so that they won’t waste money on buying her fitting ones when she outgrows them. It reminds him of his own shoes kicked into a corner after the last burning lap around the matts proved itself too much for his burning foot soles. Ben hunches into himself, turning his head away and Diego’s hands ball into fists at his sides, lips quivering in silent stutters of his breath.

Klaus cannot bring himself to look away.

Five, instead of cowering, takes a step forward—walking off the cliff with his head held high and says clear for them all to hear, “Bullshit.”

Reginald’s face twists, and all Klaus sees is his ring reflecting in the few rays of sunlight shining through the tiny windows in their training room. The quick swing of his hand is as sharp as a whip lashing out.

There’s a yelp, a resonating slap echoing through the room and the rest of his siblings’ heads jerk up at the noise.

Then Five’s lying on the floor. The dull thud of his body slamming into the wood trailing off into harsh and ragged breathing. He’s facing away from them, laying half on his chest and he scrambles to his knees as fast as he can in the stark silence.

Vanya lunges forward, falling to her knees to hold him.

Klaus waits for Five to stand, to shrug and spit out poison and salvia stained blood into Reginald’s face with a cocky little smirk like he would have done if Luther got him good during one of their spars.

Vanya is crying. Tears streaming down her cheeks, face ashen. Her hands hover, unsure what to do with herself and they’re shaking so bad like she’s just been tossed into icy river water and told to drown in the middle of winter.

Klaus cannot breathe.

Five rises to his feet, one hand cradling his cheek and slowly, antagonizing slowly turns to face them. His chest is heaving, moving rapidly up and down. Jaw clenching, his eyes are bright with unshed tears he stubbornly refuses to shed. Between the gaps of his fingers, the skin is changing into different colors and he stands, head lowered with his spine rigid, refusing to meet their eyes. He shakes Vanya off, shoulders coiled tight.

He’s ashamed. For letting Dad hit him in front of his brothers and sisters. For the glimpse of tears brimming in his eyes from the pain. Biting down hard enough on his lips for him to bleed.

Because Dad hit him.

Their Father had backhanded Five hard enough he nearly cracked his head open on the floor. Five, who’d complimented Klaus upon finding him in Allison’s uniform a few weeks back without batting an eye like it was the simplest thing—a plain truth that Klaus could rock her skirt better than her without giving him shit for wearing girl clothes even though he’s a boy.

Dad forced him to shut up for the reason Five never knew when to shut his mouth himself.

Reginald shakes out his hand and Five— _flinches_. Muscles bracing themselves to either teleport away or for another slap.

Klaus' vision bleeds red.

He whirls around to stare at Reginald, thinks of how the palm must have stung on Five’s cheek slowly turning a deep shade of red and yellow. Skin rippling lightly under the force, skin heating up. How it must’ve hurt and the way his head snapped to the side, the bitter taste of blood Five must be tasting on his tongue. It’s tangible on his own.

His hands ball into fists and he imagines himself doing the same. Wishes he could swing out an arm and punch his Father across the face like he did to Five, his stupidly brave brother. His blood pulses with the urge, to push and shove and hurt and watch their Dad’s cheek turn into a night sky of bruises along the jaw.

“Clean yourself up, Number Five.” Dad says, curling his lip in disgust. “You’re unsightly.”

The rage bubbling up in Klaus’ chest pops like a water bubble.

Their Dad’s head snaps to the side like someone invisible punched him in the jaw and he falls onto the floor. The wood creaks underneath his weight.

He doesn’t get back up.

“Dad!” Luther chokes out, rushing forward to check for a pulse.

Klaus’ mouth drops open.

Diego mirrors him. “W-What t-the f-f-fuck?”

Allison’s jaw hangs open, staring at the crumpled heap of their Dad with eyes ready to pop out of their sockets. “Is…Is he?”

“No,” Luther sounds relieved, “No, he’s …he’s only unconscious.” His gaze lifts, roaming over each of them, lingering on Vanya, who gapes, latching onto Five’s arm with a death grip to keep her legs from buckling underneath her weight before falling onto Klaus.

“What?”

Klaus says, a little weirded out by the staring. He shifts on his feet, tearing his gaze away from their Father’s motionless body sprawled out across the floor—aware of the rapid beat his heart is racing in—to see the rest of his siblings watching him closely.

“Your nose is bleeding.” Five’s hand slips from his face, hanging limply by his side now.

“What?” Klaus blinks, wiping a trembling thumb across his upper lip. His finger pulls away glistering wet with a smear of blood. “Must have burst a blood vessel from shock.”

He forces out a laugh. Nervous and high-pitched and fake to his own ears.

They won’t look away—won’t even blink. Wide-eyed and pale, they look at him like he just woke up again after tumbling down the stairs.

Klaus stomach twists. The bitter tang of copper and sweat prickling on his tongue when he swipes it across his upper lip to get rid of the blood leaking from his nostrils.

“Klaus,” His name sounds wrong on Five’s lips. Too cautious and soft. “What did you do?”

 _Protected you._ Flashes through his mind. Instead, he begins to stammer out in denial.

“What? I didn’t do anything!”

Luther rises to his feet. “You hurt Dad!”

“I didn’t touch him!” Panic crawls up the walls of his throat, a spider climbing up its webs. “I wasn’t even close to touching him, so don’t blame this on me!”

“Noses don’t just start to randomly bleed. It was you. You were the one to…to push Dad into falling, possibly hurting himself. We all saw it.”

Klaus can’t breathe.

Luther stalks closer until Allison steps between them, holding out a hand across his chest to stop him from advancing any closer. His face is set in stone, the culprit of Dad’s injury branded into his mind and nothing what Klaus would say would convince him otherwise. Nothing short of a rumor would.

All of them know. He sees it in their faces. They know.

That Klaus somehow pushed Dad. Slapped him to be more precise and they’ll tell on him to escape getting punished for something they didn’t do and he’ll end up in the mausoleum again. Maybe this time, Dad won’t even let him out. Will keep him locked up to ensure no more freak accidents can happen.

Lock him up until he’s a rotten corpse himself.

Klaus runs, pushing past them up the stairs in a hurry to put distance between himself and the crime scene, to get away and clean himself up in the hopes of lying his way out of punishment later.

Dad will kill him. He’ll hurt him worse than Five for his disobedience of raising a hand he didn’t know how to wield instead of just his voice. Mom will wire his jaw shut again—

They shout for him to come back. Their thudding footsteps following him upstairs a moment too late and Klaus shuts the door as Diego stumbles up the end of the stairs, right into their faces. He locks it and throws himself onto the bed, rolling over to hide on the other side, legs pulled up to his chest and his head resting on his knees.

There’s a series of sharp knocks on his door, each drill of a fist against wood striking terror into his heart.

Luther can break his door open without breaking a sweat.

Turns out, he doesn’t need to, since Five pops into his room in a flash of blue and unlocks it to let them in. He hears them shuffle into his room, keeping silent in the childish hope they won’t notice him cowering behind his bed.

Ben is the first to find his voice. “Klaus?”

Klaus hesitantly risks a peek from his side of the room.

“How did you do that?”

Five asks, eyeing him warily. Luther isn’t letting Allison near, frowning like he expects to be thrown across the room any second now. Vanya is giving him a watery and wobbling smile, clinging to Five’s sleeve and Diego is shifting on his feet like he’s ready to duck to the ground. Ben is staring at him with something like wonder in his gaze, unafraid and willing to meet his eyes. Probably because there’s little else scarier than The Horror that he can see. Ghosts notwithstanding.

And yet.

They look at him like he’s a time-bomb ready to explode.

Klaus bursts into tears.

“I don’t know!” He wails, pressing himself against the wall like he can melt right through it. “I don’t wanna have another power! Can’t I give them to Vanya? She can have them if she wants them.”

Five looks horrified, face twisting into barely hidden panic at the sight of his tears. Any fear evaporates at seeing him cry like a baby. Luther looks uncomfortable, letting Allison climb over his bed to pull him into a hug.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” She strokes his hair, glaring at the rest of their siblings, daring them to disagree. Vanya nods, inching closer to lay a hand on his shoulder and he sniffles.

“There must have been some trigger.” Five reasons, voice less gruff as he rummages through his desk drawer to throw a pack of handkerchiefs at him.

It hits him in the face and everybody looks stumped over the fact.

“We can take crying off the list.” Five says, “That’s good. You cry far too much. Now, try to remember what happened and put it into words for me to analyze.”

Klaus whimpers. “You’re not mad?”

“At you?” Five raises an eyebrow and flops down onto his desk chair. “No.”

Relief floods him like a tidal wave. He lets Allison pull him onto the bed. Diego gently closes the door behind him, puffing up like he’s standing guard while Luther at Allison’s pointed look leans against the desk near Five with his arms crossed. Ben walks over to sit down on the floor with his legs crossed.

Vanya hands him a handkerchief for his nose, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder.

“We should get some ice for your cheek.”

Five blinks. “Later. Now, we’re going to figure out what the hell happened downstairs.”

“It’s gonna swell,” Klaus says, throwing the pack of handkerchiefs back. “Mom should take a look at you. To make sure you’re not missing any teeth.”

Luther clears his throat. “Mom’s looking after Dad.”

Klaus shrinks into himself.

“Lay off,” Allison says, rubbing his arm. “He’s scared.”

“ _He’s_ scared? After throwing Dad across the room?”

Diego scowls, bristling. “He didn’t th-throw him!”

“Shut it, both of you.” Five hisses, throwing them a sharp look. “There’s no time for a dick measuring contest. Either you quieten down or I’ll throw you out of here.”

Luther and Diego turn their glares on him, grumbling underneath their breaths. Five daps the tissues across his cheek where the ring had cut him before balling it up and throwing it at Luther’s head.

“Hey—”

“I’m not angry with you,” Five cuts him off, turning his gaze back onto Klaus, who tries to hide in Allison’s embrace. “Trust me, you’d know. But I need to know what happened, okay? We need to identify the trigger to make sure you don’t accidently lash out at one of us.”

“That sounds fair,” Klaus lets out a shaky breath, wiping at his eyes. “Okay, okay, fine.” He pulls away slightly from Allison, letting her take his hand into her own. “Sure, let’s do this.”

He worries his lips, curling into himself at the attention of the room on him.

“I…I don’t think it was an accident.” He says, looking down at his lap.

Luther’s sharp voice makes him flinch. “What?”

“He hurt Five!”

Klaus cries out, gesturing with his hand towards Five’s bruised cheek. They flinch, some cringing while others follow the swing of his hands a bit too closely for comfort.

“He just…just _punched_ him in the face and he wasn’t even sorry about it! I was so, so angry I couldn’t think straight and…and I thought about punching him. To make see what it felt like because he deserves it for hurting him!”

A pause.

“Right,” Five nods slowly, “And then you actually punched him in the face. For me. Without touching him.” He sounds impressed, a rarity when it comes to anything but time-travel nowadays.

“Yeah…” Klaus wipes at his eyes. “…I…I just wanted to protect you.” His voice cracks and his cheeks flush in mortification. He doesn’t dare glance up to see the disbelief in their faces. They’ll laugh. He’s the lookout, the useless one in a fight, who can’t even protect himself.

He waits for the mocking laughter to come.

Silence drags on.

“I was so scared,” Allison’s voice speaks up, a shadow of her usual confidence. “I couldn’t move when Dad…when he raised his hand, I just…I just couldn’t move. It’s so stupid. We fight in bank robberies and all that shit and I still couldn’t move.”

Vanya shivers, hugging herself. “Me neither.”

“He’s going to kill me.” Klaus puts his head into his hands. “What am I gonna do? Hope I can shield myself with the power of my brain?”

“He’s not laying another hand on anyone!” Allison says, voice hard. “I’ll rumor him. I’ll rumor him so hard he’ll never know what hit him.”

Klaus can’t help but laugh through his choked sobs. “Been there, done that.”

“So what?” Luther shifts on his feet when all eyes turn to him. “We can’t make Klaus angry?”

“You’d sooner make him cry than get him to throw a violent temper tantrum.”

Five sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, the universal sign he’s fed up with their bullshit.

“How often did you manage to piss him off to the point of violence? Never. He’s actively against killing on our missions and I doubt he’ll decide to twist your neck with a snap of his fingers for stealing waffles during breakfast.”

Luther’s eyes bulge out.

“I’m not gonna do that!” Klaus says shrilly, because he loves waffles but not enough to murder someone for them. “Remember that I’d see you, if I’d kill you and I don’t wanna have you watching over me while I take my baths!”

“Gross,” Luther mumbles, which is rude but he looks a lot less scared, so Klaus will let it slide just this once with an offended look.

“You’d be lucky to get an eyeful of me.”

Diego groans. “No. Just no.” He shakes his head to get rid of the mental picture. “Or I’ll carve my eyes out with my knives.”

“What’d you need a knife for? We can do that just fine with our hands.”

Five snaps his fingers to draw the attention of the room onto himself. “Focus. We need a game plan for when the old man wakes up.”

“I’ll rumor him into forgetting today ever happened,” Allison offers with a firm nod. Luther looks like he wants to protest but he bites his tongue.

“What about the bruises on his jaw?” Five raises an eyebrow, frowning. “You’ll rumor him into thinking he ran into a door?”

Allison’s face flushes at Five’s sarcasm. “Why not? It’s not like he can do anything about it!”

“That still leaves other problems we need to deal with! Your rumors aren’t a miracle cure for everything.”

Diego grits his teeth, bristling. “Do—Don’t call ou—our brother a problem!”

Five deflates, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “Don’t go around putting words into my mouth.” There’s something akin to regret tugging his lips into a frown, eyes losing some of their sharpness when they glance at Klaus, huddling into Allison’s arms like he can hide away from the world not unlike a rabbit seconds away from dying of fright.

“That’s _literally_ what you just said—"

“I worded it wrong.” Five silences Diego’s outrage with a harsh glare. “But we need to address every possible angle of this problem to find the best solution, alright? While Allison’s rumors work effectively in our favor, there’s still the fact that Klaus has no idea on how to handle his secondary power.”

“We can’t keep this a secret from Dad.” Luther glances from Five to Klaus then to the rest of his siblings only to come back to Five. “He’ll know how to deal with this.”

“Yeah,” Vanya mumbles, voice barely above a whisper. “Just like he knew how to deal with Five, you mean?”

Luther opens his mouth only to close it. At loss for words, there’s no excuse to hide behind. Dad raised a hand against Five, who was to say he wouldn’t do the same to the rest of them? Sure, Five was a cocky little shit with an attitude and even sharper tongue that got him into trouble more often lately than it got him out of punishment, but there was an unspoken rule to never draw blood. Not during sparing and certainly not for no reason other than disobedience.

And Dad had broken that rule without remorse.

“Maybe I’m dreaming,” Klaus mumbles into Allison’s hair. “Not my usual nightmare, but freaky enough I’ll take it over the alternative of this shit being real.”

Ben smiles, small and fond. “Why would you dream about us?”

“Not you.” Klaus dismisses him with a wave of his hand, face buried in Allison’s hair. “Dreaming about punching Dad in the face, however? That’s totally one of my secret fantasies. Great. I’ve achieved my big goal in life at the age of twelve and a half, what am I gonna do with myself now?”

A pencil hits him on the ear with the accuracy of Diego. Klaus hisses, pulling back slightly to rub the sore spot, shooting Five, the only one within reach of his desk utensils a wounded look.

“Fine, I’m not dreaming,” Five had proved that with unnecessary violence just now. “But come on, I mean, who would have thought I’d be the one with a brain power? Bet none of you saw that one coming.”

“Telekinesis does seem like an awful fit for you,” Five agrees, face void of humor. “Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess. Maybe you’ll actually be useful now on missions after you’ve learnt how to control it.”

Any possible excitement over the ability to move stuff with his mind—could he fly? Make himself float in the air like some fairy or get his hands onto alcohol without the need of a stepping stool to reach the top-shelf of the bar— freaking vaporizes. Trust Five to make him crash from his high in the worst way possible.

Maybe they’d make Vanya the lookout now. Not like the job needed a super power to be done correctly. Anyone with eyes and a better attention span than a gold fish would do, which was more than could be said for Klaus.

To be fair, ghosts were kind of distracting.

Nobody speaks up to defend him. Which figures. There’s a reason he’s called the disappointment of the house.

Klaus mentally crosses emotional hurt as potential trigger for his apparent secondary power off the list.

“And how do we train something like this?” Allison’s wrinkles her nose, glancing from Klaus to Five, raising a skeptical eyebrow in question. “Behind Dad’s back? You’re gonna insult him until steam comes out of his ears and he’ll knock you over?”

That doesn’t sound like fun. Especially not with Five, who knew how to hit where it hurt. And he hit _hard_.

“No.” Five eyes the tear-tracks on his brother’s face warily. “There’s a high possibility that won’t work anyway. I’ll waste my breath. For now, keeping this private until he’s got a better grip on his powers will have to do.”

Klaus lets out a sigh of relief.

Luther presses on. “But we’ll tell Dad?”

“Later,” Five says sharply. “When it’s safe.”

For who is the question. There might be some truth to the saying of lethal animals being more afraid of their prey than the other way around. Klaus doesn’t feel dangerous and nothing in this house ever felt safe to him. Not his room or his baths or Mom. With Dad around and the threat of the mausoleum hanging over his head like an executioner’s axe ready to fall, apprehension keeps him up at night together with the ghosts. A steady reminder of punishment always visible in the corner of his eyes.

 _When it’s safe_ , what a good joke. Klaus wouldn’t have expected Five to have a sense of humor.

All he wants is to smoke a joint, wrap himself into his blanket and forget today ever happened.

Luther appears appeased with the confirmation he won’t necessarily have to lie to their Father. Goody-two shoes wouldn’t last a day otherwise. For Allison, mayhap. But for Klaus? That was too much to ask for.

 _Later,_ Klaus lets the word dissolve on his tongue like acid, could be worse. Postponing the inevitable fallout that would end up with him in the mausoleum for however long it took Daddy to cook up a new training method isn’t anything new to him. Dad is a firm believer of the worst bringing out the best in them which would mean something like Diego throwing his knives at him, hoping he had the brain power to block them.

Fuck no. Klaus already had a picture of how that would turn out, namely with him in the infirmary bleeding all over the bed looking like a pincushion.

 _Later,_ Klaus lets the word wash over him, fingers itching for a joint. Losing sleep over the consequences with what little eye shut he got daily isn’t something he could afford. If he could apparently punch someone with his mind, thinking happy thoughts shouldn’t be much of a stretch. Right?

 _Wrong_. His thoughts couldn’t focus on anything but Dad’s cold eyes looking down at Five—on _him_ when he’s shivering in the chill of the dark, begging to be let out—without a shred of guilt. Only cynical disappointment and disgust.

That would be his future.

“Klaus?”

Head jerking up at the cautious sound of Ben’s voice, he says, “Yeah?” and pretends his voice didn’t crack.

Five sighs long-sufferingly. “Don’t think too hard about this or you’ll hurt yourself,” He pauses, thinking over his words and his lips curve upwards into a small smirk, “Or the old man.”

“That’s not funny, Five!” Luther’s scandalized expression doesn’t bring a smile onto Klaus’ face. “Nothing about this is, so don’t turn it into a joke.”

“It would be, if you had a sense of humor,” Five’s haughty smile turns mean, “But I forgot there’s no room for that in the tiny space you call your brain.”

Luther’s face turns red from anger, steam practically blowing out from his ears. He pushes himself off Klaus’s desk to tower over Five, who’s sitting backwards on his desk chair, arms crossed over the back of the chair, unbothered at the clear attempt of an intimidation.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Five’s eyebrows shoot up, smile sweet, voice poisonous. “You need me to spell it out for you?”

“Maybe Dad was right in shutting you up for being an asshole.”

The second the words leave Luther’s mouth, regret flashes across his face. Allison makes an appalled noise of shock in the back of her throat and Diego’s mouth drops open. Vanya flinches, looking like she got sucker punched in the face and Five—

“That’s rich coming from Daddy’s little boy. Want to try it, Number One?”

—isn’t smiling anymore.

“What? No! I didn’t mean to—”

“Afraid you’ll lose?” Five sneers, regarding Luther with a glare full of malice. Gone is his slouchy pose across the back of the chair. He’s sitting rigid in the seat, hands clenching hard enough to turn his knuckles white, which will flare up blue at the next wrong word out of Luther’s mouth. Poised to attack with the intent to kill.

Luther’s face twists, torn between indignation and apology.

“Boys!”

Klaus claps his hands, because no one else will. None of them ever got involved in a fight Five was part of, not without becoming a participant instead of a mediator. Vanya and Ben kept their mouths shut and Allison and Diego could be riled up too quickly to be of help.

“Think of the children! No fighting in my room, that’s the rule. Don’t make me throw you out.”

“Like you could,” Five snaps at the same time Luther says, “Shut up, Klaus.”

Oh goody. Now he’s gotta deal with two brothers mad at him for trying to stop a fight from breaking out inside his room.

“Hey,” A knife is flung into his wall because the fastest way to get attention from them was to use violence to be heard. “Do–Don’t ta–talk to him like th–that!”

“Or what?” Five rises from his seat, tearing the knife out of the wall. “He’ll cry?”

Klaus recoils.

“Luther’s right, you can be such an asshole, Five.” Allison stands from the bed, shaking her head at him.

Five scoffs, throwing the knife back to Diego without turning to see if he’ll catch it. “Try being your own person instead of sucking up to him, Allison, if that isn’t too hard for you without your pretty little lies.”

She flushes, lips thinning into a scowl. She looks ready to spew out rumors while Luther shifts on his feet, jaw clenched and Five is seconds away from sinking in his fangs like a venomous snake at the next offense against his pride.

Diego’s hands hover over his belt while Vanya quietly stands on the sidelines and Ben tries to disappear through the floor.

And Klaus.

He’s fed up with this bullshit. If he wanted to listen to screaming, he wouldn’t be trying to turn out the goddamn ghosts.

“Get out,” He says firmly, ignoring the angry glares falling onto him. “If you can’t play nice with each other, you need to leave. You’re making my headache worse and that’s the last thing I need to deal with when Dad could be waking up any second.”

“I’ll go and deal with Dad.” Allison turns on her heels to walk out of the room, huffing and puffing up in anger and where she goes, Luther follows.

Five’s hands flare up blue and he disappears. Vanya paddles out of the room, head bowed, hiding behind her curtain of hair.

Ben picks himself up off the floor and lingers to give his shoulder a comforting squeeze before leaving him with Diego.

He waits for Diego to leave but the bed dips under his weight as he sits down in Allison’s previous spot. Their knees brushing against each other, sitting silently side by side.

“It’s go–gonna be fine,” His brothers mumbles, patting his knee. “You’ll see.”

Wordlessly, Klaus reaches out to give Diego’s hand a squeeze.

“Ask Mom to make me some cookies? My stomach’s trying to eat itself.”

At the mention of their mother, Diego perks up. He nods, buying the excuse, and gives him a smile before he leaves and the door shuts behind his back.

The moment he’s alone, Klaus reaches for his drawer and pulls out a joint and a lighter. He sucks the smoke into his lungs until they burn from the lack of oxygen, watching the wisps of grey drift to his ceiling. Ash falls onto his sheets and he can’t bring himself to care.

Nor can he cry.

_Come on, happy thoughts, happy thoughts!_

With the rush of adrenaline gone, all that’s left of him is the icy pool of dread threatening to drown him inside his chest. Not even the smoke of weed can keep him afloat.

Strangely, he doesn’t feel any regret for what he’s done. In spite of Five acting like an ass he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

_(“You must get rid of this childish fear, Number Four, don’t let it hold you back from attaining your full potential.”)_

And yet it was the fear Daddy tried to beat out of him that got him the results he wanted. Not for himself—though he’s terrified out of his goddamn mind—but for Five. His fear for his brother got him to lash out with his powers.

Fear made him, cowardly Number Four, stronger.

The laugh that spills out of his lips turns halfway into breathless gasps of air. He muffles the sounds wrung out of his chest into his pillow and pretends the cushion cover is wet from sweat. The joint lays, crumbled in his fist, leaving behind nothing but the ash clinging to the bed covers, a smell of herbs and a red smear in the inside of his palm.

The ghost in the corner of his room wails and for the first time in a while, Klaus joins them, letting their tortured cries blend into his own.

Diego knocks half an hour later, risking a peek to see him facing away from his door, wrapped tightly into his blankets. He puts down the plate on his desk, quietly apologizing for the wall and leaves him and his demons be.

True to her words, Allison rumors Dad into forgetting.

About the day, where he got his bruised jaw and cheek, that he raised his hand against Five.

But not about Klaus.

They should have tested him as a possible candidate for clairvoyance, because he finds himself stuck in his damp little cell a week later.

Just like he called it.

**Author's Note:**

> Reginald: *slaps Five*  
> Klaus: Look, I get where you're coming from, but fuck you. You ain't got the previleges. *bitch slaps him onto the moon*


End file.
